The Beauty That Remains
by Amaterasu Rising
Summary: After a horrific car accident, Ash, Misty and Brock find out what's really important. [New Format, in chapters!]
1. Victory

"And there it is, folks," the announcer's voice blared. "Ash Ketcham is the new Pokémon League Champ!" The stadium exploded with noise. Ash Ketcham stood in the middle of the bedlam, wide-eyed. He'd just captured his elusive dream: A Pokémon League championship. The standing-room only crowd screamed, yelled, threw roses and other accolades onto the floor. Ash's lone Pokémon left standing after the difficult battle, Pikachu, looked as stunned as Ash did. His coaches and best friends Misty Waterflower and Brock Slate rushed from the sidelines to congratulate him. Along with his mother, they mobbed him. They fell into a happy heap. Ash looked up to see his adversary. Gary Oak had advanced to the finals to face him, but he was nowhere to be found. It was as though he'd vanished. He didn't have time to think about Gary's whereabouts, for TV cameras and reporters swarmed the floor, eager to talk to the new champion. Microphones and tape recorders were shoved into his face ruthlessly. Overwhelmed by the outpouring of attention, he stumbled on his words. A podium was hastily hauled onto the stadium floor. Ash stepped up to the top to accept his trophy and oversized novelty check for his share of the purse. The crowd hushed, anticipating words from the young champion. He opened his mouth. Tears flowed rapidly from his eyes. All the years of training and learning and hoping had finally paid off. He buried his face in his hands in an effort to hide his sobbing from the crowd. Misty came up behind him and gently touched him on the shoulder. He looked to the sky, and hoisted the trophy over his head triumphantly. The crowd erupted into cheers again. Ash descended the podium. Followed by his "corner," he walked through the tunnel to the Indigo Village, where all the competitors stayed during the League championships. They poured into his room. The level of energy, noise and happiness filled the room and brightened Ash more than he'd ever felt. If nothing else in my life ever went right after this night, I wouldn't care, he said to himself. This is the best day of my life. Misty was on the phone, spreading the good news to her sisters. A knock at the door curtailed the buzz. Ash rose to answer it. An old friend, Ritchie, stood in the door frame. Ritchie and Ash threw their arms around each other, laughing. Misty hung up the phone. "My sisters want to celebrate, Ash," she said. "They know a great club downtown they can get us into, Dragonite's Den. Wanna go?"  
  
"Sounds good to me," he said. "Brock? Ritchie? You guys want to?"  
  
"Sure." Brock and Ritchie agreed.  
  
"But, what about Mom," Ash said.   
  
"Oh, don't worry about me, dear," she said. "This is your night. Go out and have fun. Please promise me you won't drink tonight at that club."  
  
"Don't worry, Mom," he promised. "I won't."  
  
"Good boy. I'm going to my room and call everyone in Pallet and brag," she said. "Why don't we meet for brunch tomorrow morning?"  
  
"Cool." Ash hugged his mother and she left. "Let's splurge and get a limo to take us to this club." A devilish smile crept over his face.  
  
"Okay," Misty agreed enthusiastically. Brock grinned widely.   
  
"I'll drive my own car, if that's okay, Ash," Ritchie said.  
  
"Yea, it's okay," Ash said, puzzled. "But why don't you want to ride with us, in the limo?"  
  
"I've got a long trip home in the morning, and I don't want to be up too late," he explained.   
  
Ash mulled it over. "Yea, that's a good idea. Okay, then, we'll see you there." He opened the yellow pages, hunted down a limo service. While standing on the curb outside Ash's room, Misty and Ash chattered about the League tournament. Brock had yet to emerge from his room. He wanted to look "extra good," as he put it, for Misty's sisters. The conversation hit a lull, and Misty felt the courage to finally voice something that had been pounding her brain for a while. "Ash, there's something I wanted to tell you, but it's been so crazy today and all...." Her voice trailed off. Ash turned to her, his dark eyes questioning her blue-green ones. "I..." She dragged out the word, hating herself for not being able to just come out and say how she felt about him. They heard footsteps. Brock joined them on the curb. "Congratulations," she finally spat. She was thoroughly disgusted with herself now.  
  
"What," Brock asked. Ash was confused as well.  
  
"I wanted to tell you, 'Congratulations,' Ash," she said. That didn't ease his bewilderment any, but he just smiled and thanked her. 


	2. Silence

Within minutes, a sleek black Mercedes-Benz limousine pulled up to shuttle them downtown. They hurried into the limo, trying not to stay out in the chilly mist-like rain that had sprung up. The regal vehicle prowled the streets. Ash, Misty and Brock were wide-eyed from the opulence of the limo. Misty quickly glanced out the window and saw her sisters Lilly, Violet and Daisy, tightly wrapped in ponchos, scurrying down the street to get to the club. "Hey, there are my sisters," she suddenly shouted. "Can we stop and get them?" She tapped on the glass divider between her and the chauffeur. He rolled down the partition and asked, "What can I do for you, young lady?"  
  
"My sisters are right there on the sidewalk," she said, pointing. "Can we get them, please?"  
  
"I'm sorry, my dear, but this road is only a one-way street," he explained. "We'd have to turn around at the end of the street to get them. Is that okay?"  
  
She nodded. Brock leaned over her to shout out the window at them. "Hey, ladies," he called.  
  
"Brock! Quit that! Get your head back in the car," Misty yelped. The open window allowed the outside moisture leak into the limo, and all over Misty. The wetter she got, the more shrill she got. Ash tried to find something to mop up the water with. The chauffeur glanced over his shoulder to see what the pandemonium in the back seat was all about. A horn blared. Instinctively he hit the brakes. The limo hit a puddle that had mingled with oil in the asphalt that had been brought out by the rain. The car skidded across a busy intersection. The rear end of the limo was swiped by a car that managed to escape. The nudge sent them headfirst into an oncoming car. The force from the hit knocked the heavy car back into a lamppost. The post broke and the light crashed through the windshield. For a few seconds after cars stopped flying around like the ball in a pinball machine, it seemed the intersection was dead silent and standing still. People who were capable got out of their cars to survey the damage. Someone called emergency services. The wail of sirens and the flash of the lights from the police, ambulance and fire department cut through the hazy dark night. Violet, Daisy and Lilly fought to the front of the crowd gathered at the site of the grisly accident. A pair of paramedics were trying to rescue the victims in the limo. A red light atop the ambulance rotated in tireless rhythm. The beam from the light oscillated from the trees that lined the street to the inner sanctum of the pile-up. Misty was the first to be pulled from the devastated vehicle. Securely fastened to a flimsy stretcher, with an oxygen mask plastered across her mouth and nose, her face and head a bloody mess. The red light fell upon her and cast a crimson glow over her entire body that made her look as if she had been doused in blood. Her sisters sobbed and clung to each other. The rest of the party was salvaged from the limo, and rushed to the hospital. Slowly, the crowd dispersed. Misty's sisters remained. They watched a city clean-up crew come and mop up the pools of blood and bits of skin, hair, and various other things that were left behind in the massacre. They swept it up, along with splinters of metal and shards of glass from the cars. The milky moon's pale luster illuminated the vapor that still fell. Some tiny slivers of glass were embedded in the smallest crannies in the asphalt, and they, too, shone like secret diamonds in the filmy light. The eerie silence that fell after the accident repeated itself. No breeze stirred branches on the trees that had been unharmed. No cars revved their engines. The night reclaimed its darkness and stillness, untouched by people bustling and hurrying to get here or there. The hush drove them away, which proved for the better. They chased after the ambulance. Cold fear led them. Not sure if their dear little sister was alive, their collective gait quickened. Despite the blanket of darkness all around them, they found their way. "What if she's, like, gone," Lilly whispered in a thin voice.   
  
"We have to like, get to her as quickly as we can," Daisy answered. Her voice, choked by tears, was as subdued as Lilly's. Violet remained reticent, afraid that if she tried to speak, she'd break into sobs.  
  
Despite their horror and desperation, they paused in the hospital parking lot. They knew there was a good chance that Misty and everyone else in that limo was dead. Unsure of what she would face, Violet stood tall and assumed her seniority over her sisters. "Like, come on," she said, her voice cracking. "Misty needs us." They clasped hands and entered the hospital lobby, trying to swallow their terror and sorrow in an effort to find hope. 


	3. Fear

Brock heard the steady tapping of angry raindrops on a window. Chills shook his entire body as he opened his eyes to see the jagged courses the drops fell into after colliding with the windowpane. "I'm alive," he shouted. "I'm alive!" A nurse's aide heard the noise he was making and rushed to his side to quiet him.  
  
"Sir, I'm glad you are feeling much better, but you have to stop being so loud," she cautioned. She reached over the hospital bed he was lying in to adjust his leg, which was suspended in traction.   
  
"I broke my leg," Brock asked. The overwhelming joy and relief he had felt after he realized he was alive started to fade. He slowly began to remember scenes from the accident; the sound of metal crunching and glass shattering, the cacophony of car horns, the taste of his own fresh blood in his mouth. "How are my friends? Are the okay?"   
  
The aide's face turned grim. "You were the luckiest of all, I'm afraid," she said. "Your two friends are still in comas. The driver didn't make it." She refilled a pitcher of juice by his bedside and left. Brock sank back onto the pillow. A doctor came to see him shortly after the aide left.   
  
"I heard you were awake," he said. "I'm glad. You suffered a horrible accident, but you are strong enough to begin therapy soon. Would you like to have crutches, so you can get around?"  
  
"Yes, please, but doctor... Can you please tell me about my friends? How are they?"  
  
"The girl, Misty, sustained massive head injuries," the doctor said. "She went through a window. She's been in and out of surgery these past few days. We've finally been able to stabilize her. Other than that, her condition is unchanged. The news is even more grim for Ash. He's been in his coma since we got him here. He hasn't responded to any kind of treatment we've tried. We don't know all of what's wrong with him, and we won't until he comes out of the coma. We've contacted his mother, so she'll be making the decision if he doesn't improve."  
  
Brock dared not to breathe. "What decision," he whispered.  
  
"The decision to keep him alive. His hospital bills are already huge. Keeping him alive with the aide of machinery piles on the financial burdens more every day. There's also the possibility that he may never wake. It may seem cruel to turn your back on someone when they don't have any say in their fate because they aren't even well enough to know what their fate is, but it may be the right thing to do. It's a very personal and private choice, and it's never an easy one. I gather that you and Ash are close?"  
  
"Very," Brock choked. "When will she be here?"  
  
"Not sure, but she knows you and Misty are here as well," he answered. "I hope that's of some solace to you."  
  
"Thank you, doctor." Brock looked at the ceiling, tears pouring from his eyes, soaking the pillowcase. For three days, he didn't move from his bed. Doctors and nurses and aides came and went in his room all the while. A gentle tapping on his door turned his head. Delia Ketcham stood in the doorway.   
  
"Hi," Brock said weakly.  
  
"Brock." Delia hurried to his side, pulling up a chair. "How are you feeling?"  
  
"Miserable. But I'm glad you're here."  
  
She smiled. "Me too. But at the same time, I'm not. I'm just beside myself with all this. I haven't even gone to see Ash yet. None of the doctors seem very optimistic about him. I can't bear to lose my boy, Brock." Her chest rose and fell with sobs. "I want you to come with me when I see him. I need a friend by my side while trying to decide what to do." Brock struggled out of bed, and on crutches, escorted Delia to the ICU, where both Misty and Ash were. An ICU nurse saw them and recognized Brock. "You're Brock," she asked. He nodded. "She woke this morning. She asked for you. You can see her, if you like."  
  
For the first time since the accident, Brock and Delia's eyes lit with hope. The nurse led them through a series of narrow corridors to Misty's bed. She lay there, sitting up. Most of her face and head was hidden under thick bandages, but her teal eyes peeked out. Never did they look as bright as they did then. "Hey, guys," she mumbled. Her mouth was uncovered as well, but she had trouble speaking clearly due to many visible cuts around her lips.   
  
"Misty, I'm so glad you're all right," Brock said, unable to control his tears.  
  
"I'm not close to being okay, but at least I'm conscious," she said slowly. "Looks like you were lucky." She eyed the thick cast on his leg.   
  
"Lucky next to you," he said.   
  
"How is Ash? Is he okay?" Delia turned her face from Misty's to hide her tears. Brock breathed deeply, trying to keep from bawling. "What's the matter? What's going on? He's okay, isn't he?" The hum of the complicated machinery in the room was her only response.   
  
"We don't know," Brock finally managed. "Delia is here to decide what to do."  
  
"Do?" She looked as though she was trying to furrow her brow in confusion. It was hard to tell what was going on under the bandages.  
  
"If Ash doesn't have a chance, I'd like him to go in peace," Delia whispered.   
  
"What? No! He's got to make it." Misty tried to shout, but her injuries wouldn't allow it. "He just won the League Championship! He's still young! He has his whole life ahead of him! And I--I..." I'm ready to accept that I have feelings for him, she thought. "No, no. He can't die." She shook her head as though that gesture would erase all that had happened.  
  
"We simply don't know, Misty," Delia went on. "It's just as hard for Brock and me as it is for you, I'm sure. I'm going to go see him today. I'll be able to tell what he wants. I'm his mother. I've always been able to do that." Her chin quivered but she kept on. "I'm going now, in fact. I'll come back and tell you what's going on, okay?" Misty had her eyes shut tight, trying to block out her fear that Ash was beyond help. When she didn't respond, Brock and Delia rose to see Ash. 


	4. Hope

Although he was just across the ICU, it seemed to take them hours to get to Ash's bedside. Every step resonated through the slim hallways to them. A nurse slowly pulled back a curtain to reveal Ash resting in a metal-framed hospital bed like Misty's and Brock's. Bruises and cuts covered his hands, arms and face. His mouth was slightly open, due to a ribbed blue tube that entered his lips and disappeared into the darkness of his throat. The other end of it was attached to a large machine. They assumed it was his oxygen. Tubes stuck into his arms at every angle. On the floor at the foot of his bed was a small machine. Three small red lights switched on and off in a pattern, accompanied by a loud click. A black screen hung above his bed. A green zigzag danced lazily on the screen. They knew the zigzag was his heart rate. It looked as though Ash was already gone. A blue tube fed him his air, and his heart rate was floundering. Delia stepped forward to examine her son. Except for the tubes and machines, he looked as though he'd wake up any minute from a pleasant cat nap he was enjoying.   
  
Click.  
  
"Ash, my love, it's me, Mom," Delia suddenly whispered. "I just want you to know that I love you, and that I'm so sorry this happened to you. I want you to be strong and fight. Stay here with me. Brock and Misty survived. They're going to get better. I think you will too."  
  
Click.  
  
"Ash, I know that where you're going is peaceful, bright, beautiful and happy, but you're so young. You have too much to live for. We're all still here Ash. Please fight. Don't leave us."  
  
Click.  
  
"I'm not even sure that you can hear me, but I'll tell you anyway. The doctor is coming to do some tests on you. He's going to determine whether or not you're brain dead. That means, if your brain is dead, then you are dead. I don't think your brain is dead, Ash. I think you're trying your hardest to fight."  
  
Click.  
  
"I'm trying to prepare you for what's going to happen. If you're still there, in any way, please show us, Ash." She rose to greet the doctor who would help decide Ash's fate.   
  
"I'm going to do a simple test," she said. "If his brain is in any way still alive, he'll respond to this." She measured a portion of liquid from a beaker covered in condensation.  
  
"What is that," Brock asked.  
  
"Ice cold water," the doctor answered. "So cold it could cause frostbite in large quantities. I'm going to fill both of his ear canals with it." She approached Ash and positioned her eyedropper to dispatch the water. Brock grimaced sympathetically. The water filled the space. They watched his face expectantly. He didn't deviate from his motionless state. The doctor moved on to his other ear. Again, water flowed in. Again, nothing. The doctor placed the dropper in the beaker. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. Then, she gasped.  
  
"What? What?" Brock and Delia lunged forward.  
  
"His head," she said. "It just twitched."  
  
They watched his face. Sure enough, Ash slightly tilted his head, like a swimmer tosses his head when water seeps in past his eardrum. The doctor smiled. "My stars," she said. "Looks like there is hope after all. Your son is far from being fine, but at least he's not lost like we thought. I'll get some specialists in here and we can help him come back."  
The good news buoyed them all. Their relief reached Misty's sisters in Cerulean City. They had fled after the accident because they couldn't face the thought that Misty might have been killed. Now that they knew all three had more than a chance to make it, they came to Viridian to give support and love.  
  
The days that followed, although lighter from hope, were difficult. Brock's physical therapy was grueling and painful. Misty was moved out of the ICU shortly after she woke, but the bandages stayed on her head. Her wounds took exceptionally long to heal. Her limbs were unharmed, but she was still very weak from losing so much blood. It would take a while for her to be at full strength again.  
  
And specialists, surgeons and everyone else imaginable in the medical field worked endlessly on Ash in an effort to help him recover. Their goal was to bring him out of his painfully long coma. Every day that passed in which he didn't wake dimmed their hopes. Delia, Brock and Misty never lost hope. Despite their personal pains and tragedies, hope for Ash's survival was their main concern. 


	5. Shame

Soon Misty's tune changed. Doctors finally determined it was time to remove her bandages. Her sisters sat in on the event. Violet had come armed with a make-up kit. Now that Misty's face would be seen again, her sisters would celebrate by giving her a make-over. Misty warned them that she would have scars, and that no make-up could cover them adequately. Someone handed her a small hand mirror. She gasped. She knew she'd have scars, but she wasn't prepared for the face she saw in the mirror after the maze of bandages was taken from her. Her face seemed to be one big scar. She couldn't discern her skin from the endless network of scar tissue on her cheeks, chin and forehead. Her nose was wildly crooked. Her eyebrows had been shaved clean off, and had not grown back since the accident. A deep scar started at the corner of her mouth and dipped low to her chin, giving her a permanent disdainful smirk. Even a piece of her ear was missing. Her gaze traveled up to her scalp, which only had one large, skinny scar that led from the edge of her now non-existent hairline to the nape of her neck. The edges of it were smooth now. It looked like the stitches had been removed. The tiny holes where the needle poked through the skin where still there. It was the only thing to grace her bald head. The only feature she knew was hers were her turquoise eyes. She screeched and dropped the mirror as if it were on fire. "Oh, oh," she wailed. "I'm hideous! I'm a monster! I'd rather be dead than look like this!" She buried her mangled face in her hands. "My face! My hair! Why is my hair gone too?"  
  
The doctor attending to her tried to soothe her. "My dear, your hair will come back," he said. "But we had to shave it and keep it shaved to operate on your head and brain. Now that it is behind us, your hair can grow."  
  
"But, my face," she cried. "I'm ugly! So ugly!" She covered her face with her hands again but peered out at her sisters between the cracks between her fingers. "What am I going to do?"  
  
They looked at each other in shock. All their lives, beauty had been their top priority. They were beautiful and they knew it. Before the accident, all three of them loved to rib Misty for not being as pretty as they were. In truth, they knew she was, but they loved torturing their little sister.   
  
Now, Misty's face wasn't even a face anymore. The only visible beauty that remained was her eyes. They were speechless with shock and sorrow. They couldn't even look at her without grimacing.   
  
"Great! This is just great," Misty shouted. "My own sisters can't even look at me! My beautiful sisters, no less! Well, I guess you guys were right. I'm not as pretty as you are. Now, I'll never be. Get out. All of you," she said suddenly. "Go on," she ordered when nobody moved. They vacated the room and left Misty to her own devices. She got up and closed the door. She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the floor. She let herself descend into memories... Her first trip home after leaving after an argument with her sisters, shortly after she met Ash. "You want to be a Pokémon trainer because you can't compare with us.... You know we're so much more beautiful and talented than you are," Lilly had said.   
Then, when investigating the disappearance of a small child, she, Ash and Brock were examining a "Missing" poster, which had a picture of the lost boy. "Someday, my face will be on posters everywhere, after I'm a big star," she had said dreamily.  
  
"Yea, in horror movies," Ash had retorted.  
  
The memory of the Pokémon Technical Institute flooded her mind. After seeing a picture of a pretty but cruel student and hearing tales of the mean things she'd done, Ash responded with, "It's better than some girls who look bad and treat you even worse." He'd been poking at Misty that day.  
  
Now she was what they said she was--ugly. She'd hoped that they were kidding, deep down, but she never said anything of it, because she didn't want to reveal that side of herself. All her life she'd been straddling the line between the femininity her sisters exhibited and her true nature, which wasn't terribly feminine, but wasn't devoid of womanly charms either. She wanted to be desirable, beautiful and alluring, just as they were, but it didn't seem to fit with her. And, after one fateful evening, she would never be close to that again. She didn't even realize she was crying until she saw the tiny pool her fallen tears had formed on the sterile white floor. Consumed with shame about her mangled face, she grasped the heavy glass water pitcher near her bedside and hurled it at a mirror across the room. It shattered upon impact, shards flying everywhere. She looked at her reflection in the cracked pieces that remained. At least now she and the mirror matched.  
  
The next day Daisy came to see her. She held a red velvet box. When she entered Misty's hospital room, she saw the bits of fractured mirror that carpeted the floor. "Like, Misty, what's going on," she asked. Misty sat in the lone chair in the room, peering through the cracks in the Venetian blinds at the courtyard in the middle of the hospital grounds. She didn't respond. Daisy searched for something to clean up the mirror mess. She went into the bathroom to find that Misty had performed an encore on the bathroom mirror as well. She'd even smashed the shower doors in, for they had been slightly reflective. When she emerged from the bathroom, she saw that Misty had taped paper towels over the screen of the television which sat across from her bed.   
  
"Like, what's with all this," she asked.  
  
"The TV was too expensive to smash," Misty replied without moving. "So I put paper towels over it so I couldn't see myself."  
  
"Misty, this is totally nuts," Daisy sighed. "Look, I've got something for you."  
  
"Nuts? Nuts," Misty asked, spinning around in the chair to face her sister's statuesque beauty. "I'll tell you what's nuts. All your life, you've been perfect. As a kid, everyone always said how cute you were. Now you're a woman, and you have guys drooling over you. Girls want to be you because you have perfect features. Silky blonde hair. What do I have? A bald head and scar tissue. Now, that's nuts."  
  
"Misty, I'm, like, sorry about what happened, but you can't just totally lay down and die," Daisy retorted. "You still have your friends. You still have us. That's what's, like, important."  
  
"Yea, right," Misty scoffed. "You three wouldn't be caught dead with me anywhere. You're too beautiful and your reputations are too precious to ruin."  
  
"Is that how you think we are," Daisy said indignantly, hands on hips. "Do you think we're totally shallow? That we don't care about anything but ourselves?"  
  
"You do! Where the hell were you when I woke up? Getting facials?"  
  
"We didn't come right away because we were totally afraid for you. We, like, didn't want to see you dead. We totally couldn't handle it if you died, Misty. You're our baby sister." Her eyes teared.  
Misty's chest felt heavy, but that didn't deter her bitter anger. "Wearing waterproof make-up today because you knew you'd be sharing a heartfelt cry with your poor, disfigured baby sister, Daisy?" She knew that scar near her mouth punctuated her hateful quip.  
  
"You make it totally too hard to love you, little sister," Daisy said angrily. "Here. Hopefully this will show you we aren't totally selfish." She threw the pretty red box on the bed and left.   
  
Misty sat at the window until night fell and it was too dark to see anything. She got into bed and examined the red box. She opened it and pulled out the contents: a collection of pure silk scarves that belonged to her late mother. Her mouth fell open as she looked at them. Recollections of her mother flowed over her. They were faint and fuzzy, but they still brought tears to her eyes. She knew Daisy had brought them so she could wear them over her scars and hopefully feel human, if not pretty, again. Daisy knew how much she and all the sisters loved those scarves and how much they were coveted. They used to divvy them up when they were younger and play dress-up with them. They felt like elegant ladies in the silk scarves. She swathed her head and face in the precious scarves so only her eyes showed. She did feel closer to human in them. 


	6. Hiding

She woke the next morning when someone was banging loudly on her door. Since she had the bandages removed, she'd become increasingly surly, which had driven off all her friends, so the noise was not only unwelcome, but it was puzzling. Who would want to see her, and why at this hour?  
  
She carefully secured the scarves and opened the door. Brock was on the other side, leaning on his crutches. "Misty! Come quick," he said excitedly. "He woke up! Ash is back!" His smile nearly engulfed his face.  
  
Misty's smile slowly came on, but when it hit, her face lit unlike Brock had seen it since the accident. She embraced him and they laughed. "Come on, let's see him now!" He was already tottering down the hallway on his crutches. Misty started after him, but stopped. She could see how Ash would react once he saw her; his dark eyes would shine with happiness and relief, but once he saw her scars, he'd shrink in fear and disgust. She cared for him too much to have her heart broken as her face had been.   
  
"Um, let me freshen myself up, Brock," she said. "I'll see you there, 'kay?" She put on a plastic-fake smile and a perky voice to match.  
  
"Uh, yea, sure," he said, confused. He started off to see Ash. Misty fled back to her room, fighting tears. She stripped off the scarves to save them from the saline that fell from her eyes. She threw herself on her bed and sobbed, partially from happiness and consolation that Ash had turned the corner, and partially from shame and embarrassment. She ached to see Ash's dark eyes and impish smile again, to touch him, to see that he was truly alive, but she didn't want to risk his fright and aversion to her visual offensiveness. She sat in her room for days, purposefully avoiding everyone, and trying not to succumb to her desire to see Ash. People came into her room frequently to report that Ash had asked after her yet again. "He really wants to see you," Violet said during one of those reports. "He's like, hurt and confused. He thinks you don't like him anymore."  
  
"No, I just, I can't face him like this," Misty said, looking down. "Does he know?"  
  
"No, no one has told him," Violet replied. "I don't think he'd care anyway."  
  
"That's where you're wrong. I know he would."  
  
"Misty, he's your friend. Friends totally don't let things like this stand in the way of their friendships."  
  
"You still have your hair. You woke up this morning with one of those damned avocado masks on you face, didn't you? You don't want to have to deal with blotchiness and a few pimples. Tell me, Vi, can you find me a masque that removes scars? And an invisible comb to style my invisible hair? Didn't think so."  
  
Violet was hurt by the things Misty said, but stood her ground. "None of that matters to him, Misty. Look, I probably shouldn't tell you this, but I heard him and Brock talking today, and he said that before the accident, when we were supposed be at the club, he was going to tell you how he felt about you."  
  
Misty's eyes widened. She raised her non-existent eyebrows, which made her scarf slip over her eye. "And that is...?"  
  
"He wants to be with you. I still think he does, too. Misty, he likes you. Not just your face. Not just your hair. Now, please come see him. It's like, breaking his heart."  
  
She looked at her older sister. She wanted to be convinced so badly, but she still resisted. "I'll try this afternoon," she said absently.  
  
Violet exploded. "Misty, you're like, going to lose everyone you love if you're not careful. You almost did in the accident, but you lived. Now what are you trying to do? You didn't die, so you want to make it seem like you did by acting like a major pill? We don't want you dead. We want you to be yourself again. We're here for you. Take it, or leave it." Misty said nothing. Violet left her. 


	7. Love

Her latest onslaught seemed to seal the deal for her. Everyone truly left her alone now. She remained in her room, small, bitter, and weak due to the lack of exercise and energy she had. Her body wasn't regenerating red blood cells fast enough for her to be well enough to leave the hospital. She withered in that room. She spent most of her time napping, for she could only read the local newspaper so many times in a given day. One day when she awoke from a nap, she saw Ash sitting at her bedside, his eyes soft, as though he'd been there a while and was watching her sleep.   
  
"Ash," she whispered. Never did his name sound so good to her.  
  
"Hey," he said. "I'm glad I found you, finally. You've been awfully elusive." She cast her eyes down. "Those are pretty scarves. They match your eyes." He smiled.  
  
"Thanks," she said, relieved that she'd fallen asleep with them on.   
  
"I hear you don't get out much these days," he said. "Wanna take me for a walk?"  
  
"What if someone sees me?"  
  
"What do you mean," he asked.   
  
"Do you know what happened to me?"  
  
"You were in a car accident."  
  
"Duh. But in the accident, I--"  
  
"Brock broke his leg. What happened to you?"  
  
She took a deep breath. "Okay, before I tell you, there's something else I have to tell you, because if I tell you this after what I really have to tell you, then..."  
  
"Then I'll be even more confused than I am already?"  
  
"I'm not making sense, am I?"  
  
He shook his head and smiled. "Not in the least."  
  
"Okay. Let me try it this way. Before the accident, Ash, I wanted to tell you that I--"  
  
"You," he prompted.  
  
"I--"  
  
"I have to get a tissue, but I'm still listening to you," he interrupted. He put his arms to his sides and pushed the wheels on the manual wheelchair he was sitting in. He wheeled himself into the bathroom and returned with a handful of Kleenex. He turned to Misty expectantly, waiting to hear the rest of what she had to say.  
Her mouth fell to the floor. "Ash, are you--?"  
  
"Paralyzed? Yea," he said sadly. "It's not fun, let me tell you, but it's not as terrible as you would think. When they first told me, I thought I'd go insane. But now that I'm used to it, it's not as bad."  
  
She was still beside herself with shock. "Will you walk again?"  
  
Ash's face turned a bit dark. "Not likely. That's what the doctors say. But then again, they said it was unlikely that I'd live, but now look at me. I'm paralyzed, but I'm alive. I can use everything above my waist."  
  
Misty loathed herself for being a vain monster. Her face was destroyed, but at least she could walk, run, swim, play. Ash could do none of those things. She peeled off the scarves and faced Ash, sobbing.  
  
"I'm a monster, but not because of my face," she said. "I used to think this was the worst thing in the world. I was mean and cruel to my loved ones because I was jealous. Jealous of their perfect faces. I hated myself for being ugly. I smashed mirrors so I wouldn't look at myself. I even wouldn't see you because I was afraid you'd think I was as hideous as I've been acting." Sobs overcame her, and she collapsed on the floor next to Ash. He pulled her head into his lap and stroked her bald head as she cried. "But now I see that I am a horrible creature. You can't use half your body. You have every right to put everyone through all the shit I put them through. You'll never live a normal life again. And I was worried about some fucking scars. I'm so rotten Ash, I am!"  
  
"No, no, it's okay," he soothed her. "I understand why you're so angry and hurt. I'd be just the same if I had gone through the window like you did. It's really a shock when something like this happens. I felt this way when the doctors told me I was paralyzed, probably for life. But, my friends and my mom still like me, don't they?" Misty nodded. "And, you still like me, right?" She nodded again. "Okay, then. To hell with everyone else. Now, what else did you want to tell me?"  
  
She looked up at him. She wasn't afraid anymore. "Ash, I've having these feelings for you for a long time now, and I wanted to tell you when we went to the club, but I was afraid. I'm not anymore, though. But, can you be with a monster like me?"  
  
"Monster? I see no monster," he said. "I see only the beauty that remains." When he looked at her, he didn't see the scars that covered her face. He saw the deep love in her sea-green eyes. He saw sweet happiness in her smile. "Can you learn to love a cripple?"  
  
"Someday I hope I'll love you, Ash," she said. "And you're not crippled. You're still the same Ash I know. Your soul, your spirit, your good heart, they're not crippled, and those are the things that really matter."  
  
"I knew my Misty was in there somewhere," he said. "Now, how about that walk?" She got up and wheeled him out into the garden.   
  
Slowly, with time, their wounds healed, and they all returned home. Brock's leg healed completely, but the memories of pain and fear stayed fresh in his mind. Although their accident was a combination of events that could not be prevented, Brock went on a crusade to educate people about the dangers of drunk driving, for many people ended up like they did, and worse, due to drunk driving.   
  
Misty and Ash's love grew more and more as the years went on. As time crawled by, her scars got smaller and less noticeable. The "smirk" scar was still as prevalent as ever, but the others healed enough that Misty got some of her old face back. With the help of therapy, Ash gained more mobility, but unfortunately, his spinal cord was severed, so there was no hope for him to walk again. He was, however, able to father a son, Derian. He took up work as Professor Oak's aide with Pokémon research, so he could be with his first love; raising Pokémon. Although they'd all been to hell and back, they'd been able to find the beauty that remains. 


End file.
